I am NOW officially Blogging

Teacher life be damned. If people can make Blogs about their corporations and be disgruntled, I can be an innocent teacher posting on a Blog Site. And this is the second day of my summer off for my first year as a teacher. I am going to write EVERY day about my teacher ennui. After all, am I defined by what I do? Am I now, "a teacher" because that's what I do for a living? Or is it just pure karma... you know some crazy psychic lady told me I have NO real teacher, that I am aligned with my own teacher and will never have an external manifestation of a "guide" or whatever. She also told me that I had to go to India because I was meant to be this great teacher person that would change the world. I didn't go because I asked this Indian guy at the bar (I'd asked for a sign) if I should do that... he said NO go to college if you want to be enlightened. He said I'd get stuck there and have to sell my body to get home. So I listened to him. And I didn't go. Duh. But.... I still have to wonder. I hate being Hippy Spawn. You always think there is some cosmic goddamned reason for your existence. What if it doesn't mean jack shit? I think it doesn't.

To Blog or NOT to Blog...?

I'm not sure about the extent I wish to use this since I'm a teacher and now have some sort of public appearance to maintain! I suppose I could have a secret life and not talk about "reality" but as a die-hard realist, what fun would that be? Realism, coupled with sporadic bouts of philosophical conundrum, ennui, and revelation don't make me seem all that realistic. I am a realist in the literary sense. But I'm also the type of person who will stay up all night taking personality tests http://similarminds.com/personality_tests.html or reading about Agrippa http://www.renaissanceastrology.com/agrippa.html or Buchenwald and Female SS agents for NO REASON!!! I'm sure there was some reason... I was probably writing lesson plans or some such other thing (since my work is never done) and somehow surfed on in. Oh yeah, I was reading the Straight Dope by Cecil Adams, and found the topic about the lamp shades made from the skin of concentration camp victims which were alleged but not proven to be real. Nothing like a little viscera to give you some perspective.